Supposing we wereunable to prove the will, in what position should we be?"
"In an awkward one--decidedly awkward. But why speak of failure when weare bound to succeed?"
"Are you quite sure the--er--dead man will never trouble us?"
"Positive. A sentence of fifteen years in New Caledonia means certaindeath. He might just as well have been buried at once, poor devil!"
This confidential conversation took place in Mr. Bernard Graham's gloomyprivate office in Devereux Court. The old solicitor, with a serious,intense expression upon his countenance, was sitting at his litteredwriting-table with a short legal document, covering only half of thesheet of foolscap, spread out upon his blotting-pad. Its purport wasthat the testator, Hugh Trethowen, left all he possessed to his "dearwife, Valerie," and the date of the signatures showed that it had beencompleted only a few days before they left Coombe for Paris.
In the client's chair, opposite her legal adviser, sat Valerie. Attiredin deep mourning, that became her well, her thin black veil scarcely hidthe anxious expression upon her face. Assuming her part with anactress's regard to detail, she did not overlook the fact that pallorwas becoming to a widow; therefore, since she had put on the garments ofsorrow, she had refrained from adding those little touches of carmine toher cheeks which she knew always enhanced her beauty. Neither her facenor voice betrayed signs of nervousness. With the steady, doggedperseverance of the inveterate gambler she had been playing for heavystakes, and now, at the last throw of the dice, she had determined towin.
Their interview had been by appointment in order to arrange the finaldetails. Now that Graham was in possession of the death certificate, hewas to proceed at once to obtain probate on the will, after which theestate would pass to her. For his services in this matter, and invarious other little affairs to which she was indebted to him, he was toreceive twelve thousand pounds. A munificent fee, indeed, for proving awill!
There was a silence while the old solicitor took up the certificate shehad handed him, and carefully scrutinised it. The declaration was quiteplain and straightforward. It stated that Hugh Trethowen, Englishsubject, had died from syncope at the Hotel du Nord, and had been buriedat the cemetery of Stuivenberg.
"If he lived to complete his sentence?" hazarded Mr. Graham in a lowvoice, putting down the slip of paper, and removing his pince-nez topolish them. "Imprisoned persons, you know, have an awkward knack ofturning up at an inopportune moment."
"And supposing he did, what could he prove?" she asked. "Has he notleft a will bequeathing everything to me?--am I not mourning for him ashis widow? Besides, he knows nothing--he can never know."
"I admit your cleverness," he said. "Notwithstanding that, however, wecannot be too circumspect."
"We've absolutely nothing to fear, I tell you," she exclaimedimpatiently. "Hugh is as safely out of the way as if he were in hisgrave."
"And what of the others--Egerton, for instance?"
"He dare not breathe a word. As a matter of fact, he is ignorant of thewhereabouts of his friend."
"Is Holt to be relied upon?"
"Absolutely. He has left the country."
"Oh! Where is he?"
"In America Through some unexplained cause he took a passage to NewYork. I expect he is in disgrace."
"Does he share?"
"Of course. He has written me a long letter announcing his intentionnot to return to England at present, and giving an address in Chicagowhere I am to send the money."
"Very good," Graham said approvingly. "As long as we can safely relyupon the secret being preserved, we need apprehend nothing."
"It will be preserved, never fear," declared Valerie flippantly. "Theyknow how essential is secrecy for the safety of their own necks."
"Don't be so unsentimental," urged the old man smiling. "You talk alittle too plainly."
"Merely the truth," declared she laughing. "But never mind--you provethe will, and the twelve thousand pounds are yours."
"Agreed. I shall take preliminary steps to-morrow."
"The sooner the better, you know."
"Shan't you live at Coombe?"
"Oh, what an idea!" she exclaimed in ridicule. "How could I live thereamong all those country busy-bodies and old fogies? I should cut a nicefigure as a widow, shouldn't I? No. When I get the money I shall setup a good house here in London, mourn for a little time, then cast offmy sackcloth and ashes."
"Remember," he said, "I am to receive twelve thousand pounds. But,really, you make a most charming widow."
"And you bestow a little flattery upon me as a sort of recognition," sheobserved, a trifle piqued at the point of his remark. Then, laughingagain, she said lightly, "Well, if I really am so charming as somepeople tell me, I suppose I ought to be able to keep my head above waterin the social vortex. At all events I mean to try."
"You cannot fail. Your beauty is always fatal to those who oppose you,"he remarked pleasantly.
"We shall see!" she exclaimed, with a merry little peal of laughter.Rising and stretching forth her hand, she added, "I must be going. Iconsign the certificate to your care, and if you want me you know myaddress. I shall remain in London till the matter is settled."
The old man rose, and grasped the hand offered to him. Bidding heradieu, he again assured her that he would give his prompt attention tothe business on hand, and, as his clerk entered at that moment, heceremoniously bowed her out.
During the time Valerie had been in conversation with Mr. Graham, awoman had been standing on the opposite side of the Strand, against therailings of the Law Courts, intently watching the persons emerging fromDevereux Court. She was young and not bad-looking, but her wan facebetrayed the pinch of poverty, and her dress, although rather shabby,was nevertheless fashionable. Her dark features were refined, and herbright eyes had an earnest, intense look in them as she stood inwatchful expectancy.
After she had kept the narrow passage under observation for nearly anhour, the object of her diligent investigation suddenly came into view.It was Valerie, who, when she gained the thoroughfare, hesitated for amoment whether she should walk or take a cab to the Prince of Wales'Club. Deciding upon the former course, as she wanted to call at a shopon the way, she turned and walked along the Strand in the direction ofCharing Cross.
When the woman who had been waiting caught sight of her she gave vent toan imprecation, the fingers of her gloveless hands twitched nervously,and her sharp nails buried themselves in the flesh of her palms.
As she started to walk in the same direction she muttered aloud toherself, in mixed French and English--
"Then I was not mistaken. To think I have waited for so long, and Ifind you here! You little dream that I am here! Ah, you fancy you havebeen clever; that your secret is safe; that the police here in Londonwill not know Valerie Dedieu! You have yet to discover your mistake.Ha, ha! what a tableau that will be when you and I are quits! _Bien_,for the present I will wait and ascertain what is going on."
Throughout the whole length of the Strand the strange woman walked onthe opposite pavement, always keeping Valerie in sight--a difficult tasksometimes, owing to the crowded state of the thoroughfare. At ajeweller's near Charing Cross, Mrs. Trethowen stopped for a few minutes,then, resuming her walk, crossed Trafalgar Square, and went up theHaymarket to the Prince of Wales' Club, calmly unconscious of the womanwho was following and taking such intense interest in her movements.
Muttering to herself sentences in French, interspersed by many epithetsand imprecations, she waited for Valerie's reappearance, and thencontinued to follow her down the Haymarket and through St. James's Parkto her flat in Victoria Street.
She saw her enter the building, and, after allowing her a few moments toascend the stairs, returned and ascertained the number of the suite.
Then she turned away and walked in the direction of Westminster Bridge,smiling and evidently on very good terms with herself. Indeed, she hadmade a discovery which meant almost more to her than she co
uld realise.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
AT LA NOUVELLE.
A wide, vast expanse of glassy sapphire sea.
The giant mountains rose in the west, sheer and steep--purple barriersbetween the land and the setting sun. A golden fire edging their whitecrests, that grew from their own dense, sombre shadows to the crimsonlight which flooded their heads, solemn and silent. And the calmPacific Ocean lay unruffled in the brilliant blood-red afterglow.
Seated upon a great lichen-covered boulder on the outskirts of a denseforest, a solitary man gazed blankly and with unutterable sadness uponthe magnificent scene. Above him the trees were hung with a drapery ofvines and tropical creepers bearing red and purple
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